Milk and Cookies
by Zombie-Genesis
Summary: A lonesome orphan at Christmas time, an annual reminder of things now missed, and a kind heart to show that they are indeed a family.


I started writing this short story as a Christmas tribute, half way through though I began to reflect on L's childhood in the orphanage. I began to wonder what it must have been like for him as a poor young boy, how his genius would have separated him, and how lonely it must feel to know you truly are alone in the world.

I also began to wonder what it means, to truly care for someone.

**ZG  
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**Milk and Cookies**

The orphanage in the late winter, decorated so softly by the icing of snow against an otherwise raven backdrop, gradual snowflakes gave the scene a calm aura. The brass bell in the highest tower sung out against the wind, the trees framing the traditional building swayed so elegantly in this typical Christmas scene. The night was not so quiet though, even as the bell sound waned the echoed crunch of frozen footsteps made their way to the broad front gates. Under the silver sun a tall aging man with a thick black overcoat and dirt-trodden Wellingtons held a tugging umbrella in one hand, and the hand of a small boy in the other. The innocent young lad pressed his thumb to his bottom lip as he looked up against the falling frozen rain, his raven hair swept to the side as his wide, tender eyes soaked in the tone of his new home. This gentle looking English refuge, situation on the outskirts of the countryside, perhaps through different eyes it would be a welcoming sight- but for poor Lawliet it was nothing but validation. He was here now, and here he would stay. Lowering those broad black eyes to the blank carpet of the snow floor the small boy rubbed his long sleeve jacket against his eyes as they began to sting, a drop rolling past his cheek before patting gently onto the ground and freezing into the snow.

The elderly man with the half rim glasses looked down on the boy, feeling the lad squeezing his hand as he stared at the floor.

_Of all the things to happen on Christmas, _Mr. Wammy sighed to himself as he looked to the closed out Victorian building before them, placing a hand on the front gates, _to be in a place that only reminds you of what you don't have. _

Sitting in a rich mahogany armchair that dwarfed him in size the young Lawliet swayed his feet mindlessly in the air as they hunch inches from the floor. Still wearing the sizable black overhead the kind old man at his side had given to him, the curious youth peeked up through his long wind swept hair at the broad and official desk before him. Sitting on the polished wooden surface an array of merry time trinkets brightened up what was otherwise a dusty office. A trail of melted snow carried across the floor to the wide desk, the snow crusted coat hung carefully on the rack in the corner of the room, close to a solitary little pine tree coated with sparkles of glitter and childishly drawn Christmas cards poking from its branches. On the desk a dusty old snow globe showing a merry looking fellow with a puffy red coat and a long beard waved at him in a jolly fashion; little Lawliet felt rather distant from this chipper figure. Besides this was a home made little snowman constructed from felt and cotton wool- which stood cockeyed besides a plaque that was either fresh bronze or a worn golden metal. It wasn't that he wasn't very literate, in fact young Lawliet was already fluent in quite a few languages; however he was in no mood to pay much attention to it. At the moment he was content with staring at the plump man in the glass dome, he'd always been told that old Father Christmas cared for those who were good and kind, that he'd reward them for their generous nature at Christmas with gifts as the family gathered together to celebrate. This Christmas though, an orphanage was his home, and he'd lost the greatest gifts any child could have. Mr. Christmas wasn't looking over him this year.

"Roger, this boy needs a special place here. I've spent some time with him, I believe he'd fit in quite well with this orphanage…" The gentle man placed a hand on the boys shoulder. The only response he received was a glance of those little owl like eyes.

_Orphanage? _His face seemed to speak, but the gentleman looked away. "I'm sure we can do him well here."

The snow had ceased fall the previous night, the winter calm had set in and now the brittle English countryside awaited the warmth of a coming spring. In the meanwhile however the trees around those orphanage walls hugged close to avoid the chill, creeping across the ice etched walls and iron gates of the Victorian architecture. The still scene surrounding the bustle of a waking orphanage was a picturesque art of subtle English splendour- however such a gentle scene was lost on a young boy, who huddled for warmth against his thick black winter coat, given to him by the head of his group dormitory within the orphanage, with its white puffy cuffs that felt like the soft albino fur of some puffy snow coloured animal- it reminded him of the warm looking fur trailing the famous red coat on old Mr. Christmas, they were indeed cosy. The snow crunched under his small hands as they drew patterns in the snow, his black woollen gloves caught the odd flakes that fell from withering trees, still hanging on to their frozen leaves while their neighbours shed bald. For some reason the trees around the orphanage never seemed to lose all their green during the winter months.

The young boy with withering raven hair was rested against the trunk of a protective tree, situated off the playing ground that the ghosts of the other children loomed in. They were lost to young Lawliet, who watched as though nothing laid there but an empty stretch. These were not his friends, this was not his home. Even now his memories weren't serving him well, and yet he knew that this place, this life, wasn't his. Where had his life gone? Why must he be lost from his parents like this?

This last thought caused his wide eyes to clench, he didn't want to think about that, he didn't want to remember that, but he couldn't forget. He cuddled up against his podgy coat and buried his head in its arm, the scattering drops of snowflakes from the leaves above resting gently against his dark hair as he sat motionless. The plains of the orphanage rear were mostly bare, and soaked in a gentle frost, however there were still those adventurous young people willing to brave the carpet of snow to build their ice men and carve their snow angels. It was a beautiful winter sight; all the children knew this and were willing to make the most of it. Somewhere across a long trek over crunching ground from that lonesome tree a small gathering of the orphanages spirited youths were building a snow family. There was a great tall man of snow, wearing a tattered old hat on his head and what could only be a jacket with buttons constructed of loose pebbles. At his side a snow woman, with long wilted grass dangling from her head as hair. The oldest boy, with chestnut hair and eyes of ocean blue, lifted a small girl in a pair of dirty dungarees to place a pretty light pink flower in her hair. By the orphanage doors, made from high and mighty oak, huddles of children stayed by the sides of their friends though the cold, enjoying the presence of glorious white frost that so solemnly came to this part of the world to stay like it did today. By the steps that trailed down from the back of the orphanage a bustle of boys took advantage of the frost by playing a game of common marbles, laughing to themselves as the spheres ran out of control on the cement. At the side of the doors, curtained with long bars in the shape of the Christian cross much like those along the outside gates, Mr. Roger stood in his full tweed jacket, flat cap posed so snugly over his head as he cradled a calmly steaming mug in his right hand. The trees blew so harmoniously here, despite any recognisable presence of wind, and even though the snow had ceased its fall the previous night the grounds here were such a welcoming and warming sight to behold. Tipping the mug to his lips Roger gave a content little grin, somewhere off on the ground where grass was usually abundant three young people, clad in gloves, scarves and an assortment of toasty hats, paraded the open field on that trench of brittle snow in a good old-timely game of warring with snowballs. One of these children, who had been knocked down onto his back by a hailstorm of fire from his misbehaving team mate, noticed in his upside-down world a boy sitting alone. Taking to his feet the rose cheeked young man with sandy blonde hair, sprinkled with the fresh coat of snow (like a glazing of sugar on a treacle tart) pulled the slipping scarlet bobble cap from his head and stuffed it in the padded maroon jacket he wore. A girl, perhaps a few years younger than him, in a rather heavy looking pink coat with hearts stitched around the sleeves, took hold of his hand as he patted down his jacket and looked on at the lonesome boy by the tree. Nobody should be alone this time of year.

So it came, with the dampening eyes of the idle young boy brushing furiously against his soft and snow dotted coat, the sleet and pale grass buckled as three of young Lawliet's peers stood around the tree. He hadn't heard them approaching, in truth he had barely noticed anyone else's presence on the stretch of playground at all. One of the children got to their knees in the small mound of snow on which the wide eyed boy was sat, the loose flakes still falling from the heavy set pine tree gave the illusion that it was snowing still. Raising his now dried yet stinging eyes from the cosy mass of fluff the lads broad, dull eyes met with eyes that were bright, hopeful and young- a small girl perhaps a year or so younger than himself was kneeling inches from his face, staring at him curiously. For a moment Lawliet said nothing, barely even moved. She was not alone, at her side a young chap who was no doubt taller than the lonesome boy himself looked down at the two with a humoured smirk. Extending one hand he stroked the young girl's head, her strawberry hair whipping into a muddled state that reminded Lawliet of rich strawberry ice cream. The boy with the blonde hair smiled down at his sister, playfully sticking out his tongue before looking across to the peculiar boy with the raven hair who looked on with mixed feeling to the comforting scene, he then extended an un-gloved down to the stranger.

For a time unknown to Lawliet he merely looked at the boys long pink fingers that were extended to him, the withering ghost of snow still trailed elegantly down from the treetop peaks as the distant fog outside the orphanage gates rendered almost everything into purest white. Slowly removing his own padded glove the young man took hold of the sandy haired boys invitation, his sister beamed and grabbed hold of their hands childishly with her own. The two children smiled, and for just a moment Lawliet could have sworn he was looking back, he could see the smiles on the faces of those he knew. He could see the affection and joy in the faces of the ones he loved, the ones he had lost…

For that December day at least, when he had felt most alone, he had friends.

"Roger." The bustled Mr. Wammy announced himself as he came through the door that night, the snow had begun to fall once more, which wasn't a common sight even at this time of year, and the white haired gent posted up his hat on the tip of the coat rack as he entered. The dorms in this part of the orphanage were indeed grand, though the grounds they inhabited were some deal shorter than the rest- a secluded little part of the foundation, as it were. The hallway lights were already out, as his thick dirty trodden boots patted down on the mat; however after phoning on ahead he was well aware of where to look. At the far end of the heavy mahogany halls a prestigious looking doorway sounded with a gentle click, before the carved frame set apart from the door and a man with a vast receded hairline and broad nose crept out from his office. Perching a bowler hat atop his head which was as pale as snow, the man, who was surprisingly tall for his age, marched down the short hall to meet with the treasured founder of the orphanage itself. The two men graciously shook hands, Wammy having neglected to remove his frost bitten gloves, but still Mr. Roger did not cease his warm smile. Perching his spectacles up higher on the bridge of his nose Roger, the younger of the two, withdrew a sheet of paper from the inside of his overcoat. Mr. Wammy received the parchment without glancing at it, he was aware of its contents, and that was exactly what he came here to discuss. Mr. Roger, however, seemed adamant of the occasion.

"I wouldn't have believed it myself," he said, holding back a jolly chuckle that could rival Father Christmas himself, no doubt, "the boy is an absolute genius! The greatest young mind I've encountered here so far." The rather chipper chap held his hands across his stomach as he spoke, clearly proud of their discovery.

"Yes, well, I was aware he was a gifted lad." Steadily the uncertain looking older gent took hold of his glasses in one hand, lowering his gaze to the sheet of paper he gripped in the other. He scanned it only for a moment- at the very heading of the parchment, 'L'.

"The arrangements have all been made." Roger signified certain paragraphs on the paper with his finger, which Mr. Wammy followed lazily with his eyes. There was clearly something bothering him, yet his director was overjoyed enough to overlook this. "The boy has been allocated a special suite in the advanced dormitories; we've made the necessary alterations to his curriculum…"

"Taken him off grounds as well, I see." Wammy finished him off, dusting off his slate coloured coat in an absent-minded fashion as his faithful director gave him a curious look. Folding back the paper slightly and running through a section or two Roger nodded acceptingly before adjusting his collar and continuing his summary.  
"Well, yes, we have had to remove him from the common grounds, but he's only been here a day as it is so I do doubt that will prove much of an inconvenience for him." The words were fair, but as Mr. Roger made past the founder toward the exit of the dormitories- expecting the ever polite Mr. Wammy to follow of course- he became aware that his superior had not been beckoned from that same spot, where he stood and grappled the parchment with sceptical eyes.

"You're not a bad man Roger," he began, the man in question turned on the spot and looked rather confused as to why this was suddenly the issue, his hand still on the brass door knob as Mr. Wammy spoke, Roger observed the gentleman fold the paper and tuck it inside of his jacket, "however so I wish you would reconsider."

"…it's Christmas-Eve, Roger. I wouldn't have expected you to remove him from the other children this soon." Mr. Wammy's voice was gentle, but still could be heard through the partially open door that stood some steps away from him. Perched on the thickly carpeted floor, with his back against the wall, young Lawliet listened with drooping eyelids to their discussion. He had been picked up so suddenly, moved away from the other children into this dusty old place. There were so few others here, far less than anywhere else on the orphanage grounds, but he never got to interact with any of them anyway. He was so secluded from the rest, and why? All because he showed potential that old Mr. Roger thought should be properly nurtured.

Why did that mean he had to leave?

"I'm sorry, but we have very little time left and the sooner he gets settled in the better. I hope you can understand. Now if you'll excuse me I'm running rather late as it is…" Mr. Roger's voice was getting more distant; the buckle of the entrance door caused a clattering echo as he left, before the door came to a firm close however the mans withered fingers caught hold, "Oh, and merry Christmas to you, old friend."

With that the boy, sitting in the mild light of the bedside lamp, assumed he had been left alone once again, it was becoming a common feeling in this isolated place, it wasn't something he wanted. This place, this home, was not something he wanted. Prodding his head down on the crossed arms of his plain white shirt he gave into the tugging feeling on his gut, squeezing against his ruffled head tight, the solitary young boy let loose the nagging of tears that had eluded him since arriving at this cold, cold place. It came about though, that young Lawliet was not as alone as he did believe. Through the gap between the door and the frame, holding in his hand that folded sheet that would determine the life of this poor young lad, the soft eyes of Mr. Wammy caught with a gentle sigh the miserable place in which the heart of this boy now found itself. What was it be like, he pondered to himself as he crept like a whisper past the door and plucked his hat from the stand, to be without anyone when you needed them most?

That night was not a sound one for the innocent young Lawliet, despite the comfort of the silky violet sheets in his sizable new bed, the sleep that should have been his was more than hesitant to come. Perhaps it was because he lay in his clothes, perhaps it was because he had barely closed his eyes since he first lay down on the bed, or perhaps it was these persistent thoughts keeping him awake. His minds eye was relentless, passing through images and memories as his broad black eyes stared into the darkness of the ceiling, even with the bed side lamp that he had simply forgotten to switch off. Still it didn't matter, in his mind he was still sitting below a pine tree in the snow. For as long as he could manage, that one occasion stretched on through his memories, that one moment where he reached out a hand to someone else, one who was once in a position much like his own perhaps, maybe even faced the same fears and pains as himself, and knew that for just one moment he was no longer alone.

His dreams were knocked however, for a second he was lost to himself. He hadn't even remembered closing his eyes, let alone falling asleep and yet the tug of the slumber was still heavy on his eyelids as he sluggishly sat up. It was not merely his sleep to have been knocked however, as his thoughts collected he could have sworn the racket to awaken him had come from a knock of the door. Still by all means it was most likely a figment of his dreams that had conjured the noise, and yet what if it wasn't? Perhaps someone had taken the risk of coming out to this foreign building worlds over from their own dwelling, someone coming in the cover of night to pay him respects, though what for? It hardly mattered to him now. Hopping down from the bedside in his slightly overlong jeans the petite Lawliet scooted over to the doorway, rubbing one eye with his sleeve as he tried to avoid stepping on his drooping trouser leg. Reaching up to tackle the fidgety doorknob it took a few moments for the boy to wrestle open the heavy oak toned door, holding it open with his arm as he was made to adjust his ever owl-like pupils with the dingy corridor outside. There was very little to see indeed, however he could see from the window gracing the other side of the hallway the rooftops of the orphanages main dormitories, all of which were coated with fresh snow and yet more was coming down! In his young life he had never witnessed such a blizzard as the one over these few days.

Despite the splendour of the snow against the midnight backdrop, there was little else to be seen outside. Something in Lawliet's heart did sink, he had not expected there to be much chance of a visitor at his door, and yet he was so hoping that perhaps…

Yet there was something there, a few feet from his door in fact, a small duck. It was a brown mallard duck in fact, or so Lawliet deducted, with a dark green head and big glassy eyes, sitting silent and still in the hallway. He was most certain that a duck had not struck his door, and so the curious orphan boy stepped out for closer inspection. Kneeling down into a position that would be uncomfortable for most people, Lawliet poked the duck with his index finger, only for it to topple over onto its side. It was soft, cushiony in fact, and it was indeed stuffed. Picking up the toy bird in his hand he found it to be nothing more than a cuddly toy, no bigger than his fist. _This is strange,_ he thought to himself, staring the duck in the beady eyes with his own equally shining orbs, _perhaps it belongs to one of the other… _Lawliet ceased his own thoughts. It did indeed seem like something that would belong to one of the other children, and yet thinking about it only drew his attention back to how far from them he really was. He wasn't even sure if any of these rooms around him housed any other children, perhaps as gifted as himself, even if they did however he was not likely to meet them on much occasion. He turned his head to the door besides his own, _does anyone sleep in there?_

It wasn't the door that kept his attention for long however, no more than a few yards down the hall from that door another object stood out against the maroon carpet, even in the dim illumination of the moonlight; nothing more than a stuffed bear, sitting with a bemusing grin and cradling a package in its arms wrapped in a tiny red bow. The now intrigued boy crept ever further, the duck still in hand he approached the second toy and placed the green headed bird besides it, two stuffed animals left randomly in the hall. What a curious thing. This was not the end of it though, no sooner had he reached out to clutch the bear than he noticed just a little further on, nestled against one of the walls, a comely bag of assorted sweets! As much as he enjoyed the occasional sugary treat there seemed to be a much more important message to this trail. Another soft toy, a wooden train, some kind of action figure, the gifts rolled on for several metres until they reached the corner, turning into the open door at the far left, next to Mr. Roger's office. This was not a position in which Lawliet had expected to fid himself, and yet it was something that his naturally investigative mind could not ignore. Perhaps, someone had counted on that.

As he walked through that hall he made certain to place each small present ahead of each door, he couldn't help but think that perhaps there were other children his age, perhaps older, asleep behind closed doors. It wouldn't be fair for him to horde all these things for himself; however he did pay special care to leave himself the hefty sweet assortment bag.

It became apparent, as he closed in on that open door, that the rich coloured carpet was becoming even more so, the red in its fibres was shining though, and it didn't take long for the warm sweeping gusts to pass over his chilled skin. There was a fire. Such a concept would normally be alarming to a child, and yet Lawliet could almost feel that there was no need for alarm, perhaps in the back of his mind he'd already formulated the reason he desired most, and perhaps that's what implored him to enter the dark chamber.

Lawliet had never been taken around these dorms, so he wasn't sure what to expect, however it was rather pleasant that he found himself in a lounge area. There was an assortment of chairs and tables in the room, which was rather large but not in any way that it dwarfed his own accommodations, and it seemed that everything was much brighter in this room. The reason for that soon became clear, much as expected, however with it came something the boy had not anticipated. At the farthest wall was situated a grand looking old fireplace, embedded into the wall with a glorious mantle and candles posted all around its base, an assortment of fireside tools organised for decoration around it, and the source of all the warmth came through in the mellow dancing flames, freshly lit and slowly rising into life. Above the fireplace, a wide photograph of the orphanage in its entirety made for a grand spectacle. These things however paled in comparison, to perhaps what was the last thing the intelligent young chap would have envisioned.

Standing asides the grand fireplace in the welcoming glow, shuffling around what can only be described as a dazzling draped young pine, a man in red hinged small trinkets and ornaments across the festive tree. For some time Lawliet merely stood in his place, his arms lowered and the lengthy sleeves had slid down and engulfed his hands, and his usually unkempt black hair was particularly askew. It took some time for the man to notice the boy, however when he did the smile was broad and very jolly indeed. Father Christmas, as Lawliet had always been told, was as fat as he was loud- that's how it had always been. To meet him in person however, despite only staring with his eyes slightly widen than was usual even for him, the boy had to admit that he must have been cutting back on the mince pies and cookies over the last Christmas or so; he wasn't nearly as chubby as all the picture books did show, nor did he bellow loudly, merely greeted him with a gracious smile before slowly beckoning him into the comfort of the fires warmth.

"Well now, it isn't often I get visitors." Saint Nicholas did grin, picking a round ornament out of the old crate by his side before perching it beautifully on the tree. It was a fine pine indeed, not much taller than the old man himself, but much younger and much greener than Santa himself. This wasn't lost of Lawliet either, who struggled with the notion of asking why Saint Nick had decided to discard the traditional green outfit he was originally believed to wear and instead don the red suit made so popular by the coca-cola corporation. This however seemed rude, so the boy held his tongue and instead toddled into the room, almost tripping a few times on the length of his jeans. The jolly gent with the long white beard chuckled to himself as the young boy waddled in like this, and with a smile he picked two festive looking Christmas socks from the tree and held them over Lawliet's head. "Perhaps you should be wearing these, young man."

Still with his eyes locked in place the boy posed a finger against his chin as he looked up at the tree, ignoring the socks as he admired it. Truly it was perhaps the greatest tree he'd ever seen, not only was it donned in cords of tinsel and shrouded with a thin layer of what appeared to be real snow, but the babuls and ornaments were not cheap or newly bought, many of them were exquisite and antique; there was one ball that was entirely wooden, with the great clock tower 'Big Ben' carved into its surface. Many of the others were traditional pictures of a stunning Christmas, Santa on his sleigh, entire towns taking the rest from the busy world to celebrate together in the snow, and the vast English countryside bathed in the calming scene of winter.

"I don't like socks…" Lawliet muttered into his sleeve, he was admiring the decorative stars that were dotted around the base of the tree, he didn't doubt they were made of glass and so were fastened on especially tight. Father Christmas gave a brief chortle before fixing the red and green stockings back on the tree.

"Of course you don't." He said, sounding quite amused. Past the white haired mans shoulder the boy in oversized clothes noticed that something had been laid across the mantle top, at first they looked like biscuits of some kind, after all he was not quite tall enough to get a decent view of them, however simply from that wafting scent they cast down he was well aware they were gingerbread men. One of his favourite festive snacks in fact, and it was almost a surprise to him to even see them again. Turning attention back to the tree Lawliet realised that he'd pretty much given up on the old comforts he used to enjoy once he arrived in this place. This orphanage to him was nothing less than a message that his old life was entirely gone, that he'd never enjoy the tingling aroma of fresh gingerbread on a Christmas morning, or see the quiet splendour of a carefully constructed Christmas tree.

The towering fellow by the fireplace pounded his great black boots against the wooden floors as the moved, picking something out from a sizable velvet red sack that was lying in wait on the nearby armchair. The bulging bag was very much full, and at its head a package in bright paper was poking out from the top where the gold coloured rope had come undone. Were those the presents for the orphanage children? After noticing this it became apparent that, on the long three piece chair that was closer to the door, a small pile of boxes, already wrapped and tied with care, sat in wait for the morning. This could only mean he was not alone here, that perhaps there were other children in this special building he could share the holidays with. Even if, as Roger had said, there wasn't much chance of meeting with them during their daily life, he would surely make an exception for them to meet under the Christmas tree on that one day of the year.

"Don't tell Mr. Rogers," Santa spoke in a hush, getting on his toes to retrieve something else from his intricate tree of surprises. "You're not supposed to have sweets this late." Lawliet could see, now that the fires had built up and the room was basked in their glow, that the picture above the fireplace was not a photograph but a portrait- and an impressive one at that. Mr. Clauses scarlet bobble hat wobbled as he picked something off the tree, coming back down to his heels with a light thud as the thick golden belt around his waist jingled. As he picked a candy cane from the tree all the branches shook, and poor Lawliet who stood underneath was caught in the gentle sprinkle of gold and silver glitter.

Shaking his head he managed to get rid of most of the shiny dust; however some of it still clung to his dark hair and cotton shirt. Behind his beard Lawliet heard Father Christmas snort with laughter, however he was willing to let it pass so long as the multicoloured striped candy cane in his white gloved hand was for him- and indeed it was. He had always loved sweets, what kid his age didn't? Still, to receive one from a festive idol that was beloved by so many, this young orphan boy could tell the taste of sugar would have a keen meaning to him from this day forward. "There's a good lad, Lawliet."

A small smile spread on his lips as he looked to the gentle old geezer, standing proud in his glorious red coat, his beard and hair the colour of the timely snow, and his genuine smile that warmed him more so than the fire did.

The boy, hair still brimming with glitter, looked down to the striped candy cane rested in his hands. This really was something special, something just for him. Had he not been here in this place, he may never have seen that. As much as he felt abandoned to be in the special new dormitories, perhaps there was reason enough for him to be here that he could learn to live with it. After all, a gift from Santa was something special; a visit from him was something that no child could ever forget. Closing his circular charcoal eyes, Lawliet breathed in the welcoming aura of the fireplace, he could even smell the delicious presence of the ginger-bread men as they began to heat up on the mantle. This was something he missed; this was something he'd thought he had lost.

Cradling the candy cane in one hand, the boy opened his eyes and shuffled back across to the proud tree, it reminded him much of the one he had only yesterday been so close to, where he had shared a fond memory. Now that memory wasn't his only fond thought of this place, and perhaps in time there would be many more to come. Carefully young Lawliet hooked the sweet present onto a bare branch on the tree, and watched it sway gently as he placed the overlong sleeve of his white shirt against his chin, touching his thumb to his lips as his eyes traced the dance. The entire tree seemed so alive.

Perhaps living in this place, wouldn't be nearly as lonesome as he thought.

"Mr. Christmas, sir..." He began, the man in the silly red hat looked down at the curious young lad with great interest. There was something very special in this one. That something would no doubt do a lot of good in this world. "My name...is L."

Those vast raven eyes glanced up at him, his thumb still gracing his thin lips that matched with an expressionless face that made the kind old man smile, such a remarkable chap.

"Very well, my boy," Mr. Wammy couldn't resist a gentle chortle as he patted the lads ruffled head, there was something very special in him indeed, and with any luck he'd be around long enough to see it shine, "and a fine name it is."


End file.
